In my last post, I shared about the breakout session I lead at Revoice24, “Imagining Our Lives: Metaphors for Christian LGBTQ+/SSA Experience,” and a few other images and metaphors that had occurred to me in the weeks leading up to the conference: the superhero (air benders in The Legend of Korra and mutants in the X-Men franchise) and the canary in the coal mine. As promised in that last post, I wanted to provide some more reflections from my experience this year. Two things struck me: the need for intentionality and slowness, and what it means to be a part of the whole Church.
Intentionality and Slowness
For context: this summer, I have been working to fulfill a clinical pastoral education requirement by working as a chaplain intern at a local hospital. My typical day consists of several visits and conversations with patients, family members, offering them human and spiritual support through reflective listening, asking good questions, and sometimes prayer (and this is a special treat). I was really nervous at the beginning of the summer—there were many unknowns, and I was worried I would not be able to provide the comfort people needed—but to my surprise I have found that I love this work, and it has been refreshing to journey with people in their darkest moments.
A few weeks of chaplaincy therefore probably influenced my resolve in heading to the conference this year to be fully present to the person in front of me. Revoice has always been filled with a ton of people I know and respect, and who know me. The desire to talk with as many of my friends and make as many new connections as possible makes it overwhelming. In years past, I am ashamed to admit this has often played out in looking anxiously over the shoulder of the person in front of me, making plans for the next conversation, the next meal, the next session, the next night of dancing. This is not loving behavior, certainly, but it also left me even more scattered and unsatisfied than if I was fully present, intentionally living in the moment. At the end of the conference this year, I had not had a chance to talk with everyone I wanted to, sure—but that would have been true regardless!
This private resolve of mine dove-tailed with the advice I found myself giving to some younger folks who had just recently entered the world of Side B and attended Revoice for the first time this year. I gave them an encouragement I hoped would prevent some unnecessary pain, an encouragement I needed at the beginning of my journey and still need now: take it slow. This community is lovely, and I know it can be such an exhilarating experience of freedom and joy—a breath of fresh air. But you do not have to make all the connections you want to make right now; you do not have to say yes to every party; you do not have to share all the details of your life right away. You can afford to take your time. The Side B community is not going anywhere, and you will have a long while to get to know and be known, to love and be loved. The pressure is off!
Belonging in the Church
Many years ago, when I was still figuring out how to be an openly gay person in an evangelical campus ministry in college, one of my mentors invited me to his house for a conversation. He and his wife had just recently welcomed their son into the world, and my mentor was watching over him while his wife was running errands. It was an honor to be invited into his life in this way; we chatted cross-legged on the floor of his living room, while the baby fiddled with toys atop a blanket. My mentor got a phone call, and when he excused himself to take it out of the room for a moment, he left me behind to watch the baby. I found myself shocked that he trusted me in this way—which confused me. It hit me then: I had assumed, mostly unconsciously, that my mentor thought of me as a danger to children.
I was reminded of this when I reflected on another experience at Revoice this year. In the hour or so after the last session, when everyone was saying their goodbyes in the lobby of the church, I thanked a young mother who had brought her infant son to the conference: “It was so lovely to have him here!” She shared with a bemused smile that she had heard this expressed over and over again from many other attendees. I found myself getting choked up as I responded: “It might be because so many of us are honored that you think we are safe to be around your children.” Comforting me as I wiped away tears, she said simply, “Why wouldn’t I?” She shared that as a mother of a young child, she felt so supported by the fact that the conference was so accessible and welcoming for parents of young children. I got the sense in that moment that we all need each other; no part of the body of Christ is disposable.
So much healing was packed into that little moment, and I know that this was only one of many over the course of those few glorious days in Columbus, Ohio. It is my conviction that Revoice is sorely needed, not just because Christian LGBTQ+/SSA folks who submit to what is often called a “traditional sexual ethic” benefit from having a space full of people like us, but also because we are meant to be embedded in a part of the larger body of Christ. As lovely as it is, Revoice is not a church, but one expression of the Church—and ideally, it can prepare us to engage well (and re-engage well) with other local expressions of the Church that are diverse in all the ways Revoice is not, local expressions of the Church that worship together every week.
Other Thoughts?
Of course, there is much more that could be said about the conference, and much that is difficult to describe, but can only really be experienced. I encourage anyone who has not had the chance to attend the conference to join us next year in Seattle, Washington! For my readers who attended in person or watched on the live stream, is there anything about the conference that was especially encouraging or memorable for you?